


hunt me (with ire relentless)

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: Grant hates a lot of things about working for Daniel Whitehall.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward
Comments: 24
Kudos: 140





	hunt me (with ire relentless)

**Author's Note:**

> So last year I wrote six--count them, SIX--fics. That's it. It was very sad and it made ME sad and so this year, I decided I needed a goal to strive for. Which is why I'm doing a 52 weeks of fic thing! Once a week, every week, ALL YEAR, I will post a fic. It might be long, it might be a drabble, it might be a oneshot I've had in progress for AGES that gets a quick, lame ending so I can just post it already, but there will be SOMETHING. Hopefully. We'll see how long I can keep it up.
> 
> For now, here's fic #1! Wish me luck on the next 51! <3

Grant hates a lot of things about working for Daniel Whitehall, which he pretty much expected going in. One thing he didn’t see coming, though—and which might’ve given him some serious second thoughts if he had—is the guy’s love of scientists.

That, in itself, makes sense. Whitehall’s a scientist himself; a little favoritism is to be expected. What’s _not_ to be expected is that the favoring goes beyond Grant not being allowed to shoot scientists who get on his nerves and all the way into Grant having to _follow scientists’ orders in the field._

He’s got years of training and a decade of experience on most of these eggheads, plenty of whom don’t even know which end of a gun the bullet comes out of, and yet he has to salute and “yes, sir” and obey every single order he’s given, no matter how nonsensical.

It is, in a word, fucking ridiculous.

It’s also fucking _aggravating_ , to various degrees depending on which scientist is in charge on any given day—and it’s just Grant’s luck that the scientist he’s most frequently paired with is the worst of the lot.

And speak of the fucking devil…his comm crackles. “Ward! You’re needed in Lab 7.”

“Oh, am I,” Grant mutters. ( _Before_ he activates the comm; as fun as being a smartass is, he doesn’t want to end up a test subject for this creep.) “On my way, sir.”

Lab 7, according to Grant’s mental map of the facility they’re in the process of raiding, is on the second floor. Grant is currently on the fourth. Which means he has the time it takes to go down two flights of stairs to brace himself for another fun meeting with Dickhead Darren—so christened by Skye after she learned why just the sight of the guy was enough to have Simmons diving for cover behind Grant.

The memory of that conversation—and the list of cybercrimes Skye subsequently offered to commit against Darren on Simmons’ behalf—is enough to make him smile, and as he rounds the landing halfway between the third and second floors, he idly wonders whether Simmons knows yet that her stalker ex is Hydra.

It’d probably explain a few things for her if she did—like just why stalking one of SHIELD’s brightest minds only got the creep demoted and not kicked out of the agency entirely. Not that Hydra cares to protect its own (God, no), but Grant’s willing to bet Hydra was planning to leverage SHIELD’s disregard for her safety into turning Simmons.

Not that it ever would’ve _worked_ , but hope springs eternal and all that. Kind of like how every time Darren demands Grant’s presence, he’s got his fingers crossed that he’ll walk in and find the dickhead dead.

Never happens. Grant keeps hoping anyway—and this time’s no exception.

…Actually, it kind of is. Because this time he gets hit with the double punch of a) Dickhead Darren alive and well and b) Simmons in handcuffs, caught between two hulking grunts.

Well. If she didn’t know Darren was Hydra before, she sure does now, doesn’t she.

There _is_ good news, though. For one thing, everyone’s too focused on Darren and Simmons to have noticed Grant walk in, which means he has time to take stock of the situation.

For another, Darren’s still on the soft sell.

“Don’t be stupid, Jem,” he’s warning her. “Hydra’s gonna get what it wants from you one way or another, believe you me. You’ll spare yourself a lot of pain and suffering if you just swear yourself to us now.”

Simmons only lifts her chin. “No.”

He must’ve expected that answer—only a real moron wouldn’t have, which is why Grant’s surprised by Darren’s lack—because he barely pauses.

“Come _on_ ,” he says. “Your only choice here is stick or carrot—and Hydra’s stick is a lot worse than SHIELD’s. Refusal doesn’t mean loss of privileges or house arrest, it means torture and brainwashing. I don’t want that for you, baby.”

Her mouth twists at the endearment, but she shrugs it—and the reasoning—off. Surprisingly elegantly, even, considering the handcuffs.

“Then let me go,” she says.

“No,” Darren says without blinking. “Any other requests? Short of freedom to go running back to SHIELD, I can get you anything. _Anything_. There are no limits to Hydra’s generosity, Jem, not for a mind as bright as yours—and there’s gotta be _something_ you want bad enough to turn for.”

Simmons opens her mouth, then hesitates.

“Well…”

Grant narrows his eyes. Everyone has their breaking point, he knows that, but Simmons refused to join Hydra at the point of Victoria Hand’s gun less than six months ago. No way can she be giving in to such a half-assed attempt at persuasion _that_ fast.

Darren isn’t as skeptical. In fact, he looks downright gleeful. “There is, isn’t there?”

“Yes, actually,” she says slowly. “I suppose there is _one_ thing I’d be willing to switch sides for.”

“What?” he presses. “What would it take?”

“Some decent sex.” Simmons smiles very pleasantly. “It’s too bad I already know you can’t give me that.”

Oh, _Simmons_.

Grant coughs—half to hide his laugh, and half to distract Darren before he can get violent. (The dickhead’s knuckles are white and Grant’s not the only one coughing; it’s only a matter of time before wounded pride turns into lashing out.)

“You needed me, sir?” he asks.

Darren’s jaw shifts. Grant can practically hear his teeth grinding from here.

“Yeah,” Darren says. “Yeah, I did.” He looks back to Simmons—who doesn’t seem to notice; she’s staring at Grant with wide, wide eyes—and sneers. “If you want it that way, then fine. The only choice you get now is whether you go to the brainwashing chair with any dignity. Does Ward have to get mean, or are you gonna come quietly?”

Simmons tears her eyes away from Grant (with real difficulty, it looks like) to beam at Darren.

“Actually, I’m something of a screamer,” she informs him brightly. “You’d know that if you’d ever managed to bring me to orgasm.”

This time, Grant’s gotta bite his tongue to hold back a laugh…and the hurried step forward he takes isn’t fast enough to keep Darren from backhanding Simmons.

It’s a harsh blow, hard enough to turn her head with the force of it, but Simmons’ smile never falters.

“Ow,” she says sweetly—like she knows and just _loves_ how embarrassing her complete lack of fear is for Darren. None of the grunts in this lab are ever taking him seriously again.

Grant could kiss her, he really could…but he settles for taking her arm.

“You want me to take her to the quinjet, sir?” he asks.

“Not just the quinjet.” Darren makes a big show of turning his back like Simmons is beneath his notice. He doesn’t really pull it off, of course, not after she just made him lose his temper like that, but he tries. “Take her straight to Dr. Whitehall. We can finish clearing the base without you.”

Grant’s got his doubts, honestly, but—again—he doesn’t get a say. Darren’s the scientist, so he gives the orders.

“Yes, sir,” he says, and jerks Simmons towards the door. “Come on, you.”

He’s expecting a mocking comment—she sure had enough of them for Darren—but she only follows placidly along. Either biding her time or just waiting until they get away from her ex, then. Probably the latter. As fun as she might’ve found taunting him, she’s gotta know she was walking a thin line there.

Whatever the reason, she keeps her mouth shut all the way through the base—up the stairs, through the door, and across the roof. Even when he dismisses the guards on one of the quinjets, pulls her up the ramp, and uncuffs her, she only rubs at her wrists and watches the ramp rise.

The second it’s fully closed, she spins to face him, and he figures she’s found her moment. He’s expecting more insults, recriminations, maybe even some attempted violence.

Instead, she beams at him. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” he asks sharply. “That going into the field with a target on your head was a fucking stupid idea?”

“That you weren’t truly Hydra,” she says.

Grant can only stare.

Simmons continues to beam.

“And what is it,” he says, very slowly, “about me standing in a Hydra quinjet, wearing a Hydra uniform, and holding you prisoner for Hydra that makes you think I’m _not_ Hydra?”

Her smile only gets brighter. If she were a cartoon character, her eyes would be sparkling. Hell, they might be sparkling anyway.

“You’re not going to convince me,” she says cheerfully. “You might as well give it up now.”

Sixteen separate ways to convince her spring instantly to mind. Not one of them is even a little appealing.

…Fuck it. There’s no one here to hear it, anyway. “What made you suspect?”

“The part where Coulson said _Ward is Hydra_ ,” she answers promptly. “We never believed it. Not for a second.”

“We?” he echoes, pretty sure he knows exactly—

“Fitz and Skye and I.”

Yep. He figured. And while a tiny part of him is pissed—he put a _lot_ of effort into his cover, into napalming all of his bridges with SHIELD, and it’s fucking ridiculous he couldn’t convince three untrained kids—he’s gotta admit, it warms him. Warms him just as much as Coulson’s reluctance to send him undercover in the first place did, in fact.

Nobody’s ever had this kind of faith in him before.

“May said she believed it,” she adds, eyeing him speculatively, “but we assumed she was just in on it.”

She was.

“It was a fairly terrible plan,” she goes on. “As if _you_ would ever be _Hydra_.”

“Hydra bought it,” he points out.

“Yes, well, Hydra are morons,” she says. “As evidenced by their taste in lackeys.” For the first time, her smile fades a little. “Although Darren being one of them certainly explains a bit.”

The mention of her dickhead ex snaps him back into focus. Nice as it is to be trusted, Simmons knowing he’s a mole isn’t as important as the fact of Simmons being here at all.

“Sit down,” he says, nodding to the jump seats against the wall. She’ll feel better there than she would in the cockpit with him. “I’ve gotta get you out of here.”

Simmons doesn’t move. “You mean that _we_ need to get out of here.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “We need to get out of here so I can get you somewhere safe.”

When she still doesn’t move, Grant sighs, takes her by the shoulders, and starts to steer her towards the seats himself. She surprises him by twisting away halfway there.

“So you can get _us_ somewhere safe,” she says, narrow-eyed.

Okay. He sees the problem here.

“Simmons, I’m not coming back with you,” he says, and she recoils like he’s hit her. (Except not really, because apparently her reaction to _actually_ being hit is to taunt the guy some more. Presumably this is because she’s somehow managed to miss how tiny and breakable she is. First chance he gets, he’s taking this up with May.) “My mission’s not over yet.”

“The hell it isn’t,” she snaps—and it’s really not the moment for it, but she sounds so Britishly offended that he has to smile. “Ward, honestly. It’s not as though no one knows I’ve been captured—what will they say, what will _Darren_ say, when you return to base without me?”

Yeah. He’s kinda worried about that, too. Even so—“I’ll think of something.”

“No,” she says, “you won’t. Because you’re coming home with me.”

“Simmons—”

“ _No_ ,” she says again. “I’m sure you’ve gathered plenty of intel and SHIELD appreciates your sacrifice, truly. But it’s time to stop this nonsense and come home.”

If he’s being honest, he’s missed this. The team in general, sure, but also this specifically, this exact look Simmons gives him every time he’s pissed her off by not taking enough care with his own safety.

Being trusted is nice. Being cared about is even better.

Still.

“I wish I could,” he says, “but I’m all SHIELD’s got right now. We need intel on Hydra, and I’m the best placed to get it.”

“Not if you’re _dead_ ,” she says, pleading and—oh hell, she’s pulling out those big worried eyes of hers.

Grant knows a losing battle when he sees one—those eyes kept Skye in bed for _weeks_ after she was shot, even when she was capable of walking again—so he turns on his heel and makes for the pilot’s seat.

“I’m not gonna die,” he says over his shoulder, careful not to make eye contact. “This is literally my job, Simmons. I can talk my way out of trouble.”

She’s got a response to that, of course—a pretty sharp one, even, judging by the tone—but he ignores it in favor of rushing through the steps of getting the quinjet off the ground. It’s admittedly playing pretty dirty, but he’s counting on the height to keep her from pushing this any further.

No such luck.

“Perhaps you won’t have to,” she says, dropping into the seat next to his. She’s careful to keep her eyes on him, which makes him feel like an asshole even before he takes in how pale she is under the reddening bruise on her cheek. “After all, I _am_ a valuable commodity.”

It takes him a good thirty seconds to realize what she’s suggesting, mostly because of what a _fucking stupid plan_ it is. “No.”

“Ward—”

“Absolutely not.”

“You can’t deny Hydra would love to recruit me,” she persists.

“I can’t,” he admits. “And _you_ can’t deny that the last time you tried to pull off subterfuge, you ended up giving away that you were on comms and then _shooting a superior officer in the chest_.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she demands.

“What does—Simmons, you _can’t lie_. There’s not a chance in hell you can pull off pretending to be Hydra. You’ll be dead within a day.”

She slams her hand down on the radar module between them. “And how are my chances of survival undercover any worse than yours are if you return without me?”

“I—”

“And don’t tell me you can talk your way out of it!” she orders. “At least seven people know you’re supposed to be flying me straight to Hydra right now! There’s no hiding that you left that base with me! You can’t just tell them that you—you _misplaced_ me on the way home!”

Truth is, she’s right. There’s no escaping the fact that he’s gonna be in serious trouble over this. Darren’s a gloater; even odds he’s already called Whitehall to let him know he’s caught Jemma Simmons. Grant’s immediate future is almost definitely full of torture and, if he’s lucky, demotion.

If he’s not lucky, he’ll be brainwashed.

But if he lets Simmons walk into Hydra, she’ll be brainwashed for sure. Probably by the end of the week. She’s SHIELD to her core and there’s no hiding that. The first time Whitehall told her to cut open a prisoner for his amusement, she’d blow her cover—if she didn’t blow it by making faces at the logos all over the place first.

Before he can even take a breath to explain all of this, though, Simmons slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Do not,” she says slowly, voice trembling, “even _think_ about implying that your life is worth any less than mine.”

Those big, teary eyes of hers are lethal. They hit him right in the gut every time.

But they’re not enough to sway him. Nothing is. All these months undercover, he’s seen plenty of Whitehall’s wind-up toys. He won’t let Simmons become one of them. He just won’t.

He takes her wrist—careful to be gentle; tight as those cuffs were, it’s gotta be hurting—and pulls her hand away from his mouth.

“It is, though,” he says, and hides his wince as her tears spill over. “This is my job, Simmons.”

She takes one deep breath, then another, and then stills.

“No,” she says. “No, it’s not.”

The tone’s not disagreement, it’s realization. An itchy, warning kind of feeling crawls down Grant’s spine.

“Your _job_ ,” she says, “is to protect us.”

“That’s what I’m trying to—”

“And so,” she continues over him, “if you insist on this—on dropping me off in safety and walking right back into that—that nest of snakes—you’ll leave me no choice.”

Oh, yeah. He’s got a bad feeling about this. “No choice but…?”

Her smile’s back. He doesn’t trust this one at all.

“No choice but to get myself killed in the field to spite you.”

…She has got to be kidding him. “Simmons.”

“Don’t _Simmons_ me.” She turns away, nose in the air. “If you want to keep me safe, I’m afraid your only option is to return to SHIELD with me and protect me from myself.”

Anyone else, he’d think it was an empty threat. He’d call her bluff, drop her off with the team, and get right back to Hydra.

Thing is…he had months to learn how to read Simmons.

He’s pretty sure she’s not bluffing.

“For fuck’s sake.” What can he even say to this? “You—you—”

She turns quickly back to face him.

“That frustration you’re feeling?” she asks. “The helpless certainty that I’m doomed and you’re just going to have to live with the guilt of waving me off to my death?” She’s not crying anymore, but her eyes are still teary when they meet his. “In case you’re wondering, that’s exactly how I feel, too.”

“Simmons—”

“Come _home_ , Grant,” she begs. “It was one thing when your cover was secure, when only Fitz and Skye and I had reason to doubt it. But you’re one of the best specialists SHIELD’s ever had; you _know_ there’s no excuse you can give for losing an untrained, helpless prisoner that won’t be unconvincing to the point of absurdity.”

“The intel—” He starts, kind of feebly.

“ _Fuck_ the intel!” she snaps. “I don’t care about that. None of us care about that! We care about _you_.”

Coulson said the same thing, the day Grant left for Hydra. _I don’t care about the intel, I care about you. I’d much rather you walk away with nothing than not walk away at all._

It hits him just as hard now as it did then.

He’s got nothing to say. He doesn’t think he can speak.

Simmons reaches out and takes his hand.

“Please, Grant,” she says. “ _Please_. Just come home.”

She’s in tears. She didn’t cry when her dickhead ex—the one she was terrified of even _before_ she knew he was Hydra—had her prisoner, threatened her, _hit_ her, but she’s crying over him. Over the possibility he might die.

Hell.

“Okay,” he says. It comes out rough—maybe a little shaky, even. It’s all he can manage.

Simmons’ eyes go big and wide and hopeful. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.” He squeezes her hand once, then pulls away from her grip so he can take the stick again. “Let’s go home.”

Taking the stick was mostly an excuse to get some distance; he hasn’t even disengaged the autopilot yet. Good thing, too; he’s barely got the last word out before Simmons is throwing herself out of her seat and onto him in a hug so forceful, he’d have flipped the quinjet if he’d actually been steering.

“Thank you!” she squeals right in his ear. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you—”

What can he do? He hugs her back. Maybe he murmurs his own thanks—that she cares enough to cry over him, to beg him not to risk his life. Maybe he hides his face in her hair and takes a few seconds to bask in the kind of warmth her hugs always bring him. Maybe he even gives a passing thought of gratitude towards whatever fate or higher power put him in a position to get her away from Darren before she could get worse than a slap.

When he’s feeling steady enough to really speak, though, what he goes with is, “I’m telling May you threatened to get yourself killed to spite me.”

Simmons jerks away.

“You _wouldn’t_.”

“And Coulson probably needs to hear about you mouthing off to a Hydra agent holding you prisoner,” he adds, ignoring her tragic expression.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, even as he inputs the Playground’s coordinates. “I’m sure he’ll be very proud. Not that it’ll stop him from grounding you.”

“ _Ward_!”


End file.
